


Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy's Incredible Arse

by MalenkayaCherepakha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Draco wears jeans, Harry can't stop staring, Harry just cannot stop wanking, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Joggers, M/M, Masturbation, Rimming, and Harry can't cope, and joggers, and tight quidditch leathers, draco has an amazing arse, now with added skinny dipping, wanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-05-14 08:05:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19269133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalenkayaCherepakha/pseuds/MalenkayaCherepakha
Summary: Harry didn't know what to expect from his 8th year, but Draco Malfoy having a fantastic arse certainly came as a shock.





	1. Chapter 1

Harry nearly choked on his own tongue the first time he saw it. He’d not been sure what to expect from 8th year, but it certainly hadn’t been this. 

 

Platform 9 and ¾ was packed, full of students excited to get back to school after a long and boring summer stuck at home away from their friends. With the addition of the returning 8th years, the platform seemed even louder and more overwhelming than usual, and the stares Harry was getting didn’t help at all. He was trying his hardest to ignore the group of giggling 6th year girls who were creeping closer to him, quills and a photo the Prophet had recently printed of him in hand, ready for autographs, when he saw it. 

 

It was like a moment out of cheesy film; the crowd parting at the perfect moment to give Harry a clear view of Draco Malfoy arriving on to the platform. It was bad enough that Malfoy seemed to have grown another few inches over the summer, that his skin had lost the grey tinge that had been present since 6th year, that his hair was left loose rather than being slicked back severely. The worst part though, was his clothes. In previous years Malfoy had always turned up on the first day of term looking the perfect pureblood heir, in traditional suits or even robes, never a hair out of place.

 

Today though… today Malfoy was almost unrecognisable. He was wearing a black t-shirt with the word  _ Oasis _ blazoned across it, a checked shirt thrown casually over the top of it. That was shocking enough, but then Harry’s eyes travelled down Malfoy’s body.

 

And that’s when the tongue-choking incident occurred.

 

As Ron whacked him on the back, far harder than the occasion warranted, and Hermione fretted, asking if he was okay, Harry tried to process what he had just seen.

 

Malfoy was wearing jeans.

 

Muggle jeans.

 

And not just any jeans. His long, lean legs were encased in tight black denim, far tighter than Harry would ever be caught dead in. But Merlin, Malfoy was made to wear skinny jeans. They made his legs look longer than they ever had before, aided by his newfound height, and fitted in perfectly with his new, Muggle-inspired look.

 

But the worst part, or maybe the best part, was what the jeans did to Malfoy’s arse. 

 

Malfoy was half turned towards Harry, giving him an amazing view of the way the jeans tightly hugged the swell of his arse, perfectly cupping his surprisingly full cheeks. Malfoy had an arse on him, an arse Harry immediately wanted to reach out and squeeze, testing if it was as full and peachy as it looked.

 

Harry was shaken out of his musings on the perfection of Malfoy’s arse when Hermione shoved a bottle of water in his face, telling him to ‘drink up, it’ll stop the coughing.’ 

 

Back in the real world, Harry looked around and noticed that most of the platform had witnessed his embarrassing moment and were now staring at him intently. The giggling girls looked particularly concerned, the fact that one of them was being physically held back by her friends suggesting she had tried to run over to Harry to help him. He supposed she was probably hoping to be able to give him CPR as a painfully thin excuse to be able to kiss him. 

 

‘I’m fine, I’m fine, honestly,’ he managed to croak out, desperate to get everyone to stop staring at him, not wanting them to notice the quite inconvenient bulge in his trousers. Merlin, he could just imagine the papers if anyone noticed:

 

_ Harry Potter, aroused in public - The Perv Who Lived? _

 

No, thank you, Harry thought. That was best avoided. 

 

‘Let’s just get on the train,’ he muttered to Ron and Hermione, desperate to get some privacy so he could process what on earth had just happened without risking further public embarrassment. 

 

Once they were settled in to a compartment, the door barricaded and the blind pulled firmly down to avoid prying eyes, Harry pulled out a copy of  _ Which Broomstick? _ and buried his face behind it. Hermione was far too damn perceptive, and he needed some privacy so that he could have a Malfoy’s arse-related breakdown. 

 

What had happened over the summer to let Malfoy get an arse like that? Had he started going to the gym, doing exercises specifically designed to build a bum that would kill Harry via choking? He’d already died once in the past year, he didn’t fancy having it happen again. Harry couldn’t imagine Malfoy at the gym, though, exercising and looking sweaty and undignified, even for the purpose of killing Harry. 

 

That left the distinctly more disturbing possibility that Malfoy had always had an arse like that, that he had just been walking around Hogwarts with that hidden under his robes. Harry’s brain couldn’t really cope with that thought. It didn’t seem fair really, that someone like Malfoy should be blessed with a bum like that. How was Harry going to hate him now, when all he would be able to think about every time he saw Malfoy would be his arse? This was going to make his plan of ignoring Malfoy all year significantly harder - in more ways than one, Harry mentally added as he shifted in his seat, attempting to subtly adjust his more than slightly hard cock. 

 

God. He’d thought this year might be the first year he’d had at Hogwarts where someone wasn’t actively trying to kill him. And now it turns out he might die anyway, with Malfoy’s arse as the murder weapon. 

 

* * *

  
  


Life at Hogwarts was as busy as always, the students being thrown straight in at the deep end with all their classes as usual. There was some distinctive grumbling in the new 8th year common room on multiple occasions, complaining that the teachers should be cutting them a bit of slack after the year they’d had, Hermione the lone voice among them taking the teachers’ side. 

 

Harry didn’t join in the complaining, occasionally nodding in agreement or coming out with some kind of grunt that could be read as a complaint when people looked over to him in those conversations. He didn’t really mind that the teachers were keeping them busy with lots of work - he was well aware that too much time to think could be a very bad thing. Being back at Hogwarts was strange enough already, memories of the battle ambushing him at the weirdest moments, so he didn’t want anything else to be different from previous years. 

 

He also didn’t want to have any more brain space free for incredibly inconvenient thoughts about Malfoy, or his annoyingly attractive arse. It was hard to keep it out of his thoughts, though, when he had to see Malfoy every day. To deal with the lack of bed space for the 8th year class, McGonagall’d had the bright idea to turn one of the rebuilt sections of the castle into a dorm and common room just for them. 

 

In theory, it was a great idea. In practice, it meant a lot of awkward silences when the Gryffindors and the few Slytherins who’d returned found themselves face to face, and an atmosphere that was distinctly more… relaxed than was normally the case for a common room. It had only taken a few days for someone to make the first of many beer runs, flagrantly breaking the rules that governed their newfound freedom to visit Hogsmeade when and as much as they wanted. After that, things had somewhat descended into chaos. The group was already disinclined to do work, and so had no problem spending their evenings drinking and chatting rather than concentrating on their homework. Hermione had stormed off to the library on multiple occasions, Ron tending to follow her with a shake of his head and a look at Harry that said, ‘what can you do, eh?’ 

 

The other problem with the shared common room was one that seemed to only affect Harry, but it was by far the biggest issue he had. The drinking, and chatting, and flirting that went on around him every evening was distracting, yes, but nowhere near as distracting as the presence of Draco Malfoy, who had apparently discovered a love of Muggle joggers over the summer. 

 

The first time Malfoy had wandered into the common room after dinner, clearly post shower, hair still damp around the edges, and joggers slung low on his hips, Harry had nearly had a heart attack.

 

Nothing could have prepared him for the way his cock thickened in response, so quickly it was almost painful. He hurriedly tugged a cushion over his lap, trying to hide the bulge in his pants.

 

Malfoy’s grey joggers  _ clung _ to every curve and sinew of his body, revealing so much more than Harry could have ever imagined. Harry was almost 100% sure that Malfoy didn’t have any pants on underneath, and either Malfoy was very generously endowed or the joggers had some sort of spell on them, for they were doing wonderful things to Malfoy’s groin area. Malfoy was wearing the joggers so low that a strip of pale skin showed above them where his t-shirt had pulled up, a strip of skin that Harry had a sudden and inexplicable urge to lick. 

 

And then Malfoy turned around and Harry nearly whimpered aloud. Harry had thought the jeans showed off Malfoy’s arse to perfection, but God, the joggers were even better. Harry felt like he’d been hit on the head by a bludger, his mind hazy with lust as his eyes roved over that arse, taking in the way that the material draped over it so perfectly, revealing so much and yet nowhere near enough. 

 

Images of walking over there and tugging those joggers down, letting Malfoy’s cock spring free and releasing that beautiful arse flooded Harry’s mind, leaving him nearly panting with need. There was something about seeing Malfoy like this, disarmed and comfy, that made Harry ache with desire. 

 

He jumped up from the sofa, trying and almost definitely failing to act casual as he walked across the common room to the corridor that led to the dorms, desperate to get somewhere alone so that he could deal with this erection that definitely wasn’t going to go away on its own. Luckily everyone was so distracted by the explosion that suddenly emanated from the corner where Seamus was sat that no one noticed Harry walk past, hands nonchalantly hanging in front of his crotch in an attempt to avoid poking anyone’s eyes out with his painfully hard dick. 

 

Harry breathed a sigh of relief when he made it to the corridor unnoticed, picking up his pace and racing to the room he shared with Ron. Thank Merlin Hermione had decided that the common room was just far too noisy to concentrate tonight and so had dragged Ron off to the library yet again, leaving the room blissfully unoccupied. Sometimes her obsessive need to study really came in handy. 

 

Harry shot a locking and silencing charm at the door before practically throwing himself on his bed, only barely avoiding getting his dick stuck in his zip in his haste to rid himself of his trousers. Closing his eyes, he gripped himself tightly and began to stroke, picturing Malfoy and those damned joggers as he did so. He knew this was going to be embarrassingly quick and didn’t even try to hold back, chasing his rapidly building orgasm. Just as he was picturing pulling down those joggers and getting his hands on Malfoy’s arse cheeks, pulling them open and licking a stripe right down his crease, Harry came hard, the moan that escaped him making him send up a prayer of thanks to the inventor of silencing charms. 

 

Muscles shaking and breathing heavy, Harry just lay there for a moment, letting the aftershocks rack his body, allowing himself just a few more seconds of his fantasy. He hadn’t come that hard ever, not even during the few blowjobs he’d got in clubs that summer. This thing with Malfoy’s arse was getting out of hand. 

 

* * *

 

One of the biggest complaints from the returning 8th years had been the fact that McGonagall had refused to let them join their house Quidditch teams. She’d said it wouldn’t be fair to the younger students if the 8th years took up all the spots, and that they’d had their chance, a speech that had been parodied many times in the common room after a few beers, with Neville’s impression surprising everyone by being both the most accurate, and the funniest. 

 

Harry had been annoyed at first - Quidditch was one of his favourite things about Hogwarts, and he wanted one last chance to win the Quidditch Cup before he left. But then the homework had started piling up, and he’d been secretly quite grateful that he didn't have to juggle it with Quidditch - not that he’d ever share that opinion with Ron, who was seething at the ruling. 

 

The complaining got so violent at one point that a petition was set up. It was helmed, of course, by a still fuming Ron with considerable support from Ginny, who despite still being allowed on the team by virtue of being a year younger, was still desperate for the 8th years to be allowed to play ‘cause you’re all so much better than these pathetic 5th years I’m having to train’. 

 

They presented the petition, which was entitled ‘It’s stupid that the 8th years can’t play Quidditch’ to McGonagall one day at dinner, their theatrics grabbing the attention of everyone in the Great Hall as they approached the teachers’ table before bowing solemnly in front of McGonagall, the parchment held out in front of them.

 

Of course, McGonagall had seen worse, from Fred and George and the Marauders before them, so one badly written and at times quite insulting petition wasn’t enough for her to change her mind. 

 

She did, however, agree that the 8th years could reserve the pitch and play casual pick up Quidditch games, as long as they didn’t interfere with training for the actual house teams. The notice informing them of this was greeted with a roar of approval when Ron read it out one evening in the Common Room, and the party that followed (for what better reason was there to have a party than the reinstatement of Quidditch privileges?) was one of the wildest since they had returned to school. 

 

Harry was more than happy to get involved, downing the drinks that were pressed into his hand and getting far too candid during the game of Never Have I Ever that Seamus initiated. It was one of the best nights Harry had had since being back at Hogwarts, and nothing could have dulled his mood. Even the sight of Malfoy dancing with Parkinson, arse gyrating in those sinfully tight black jeans didn’t make him want to scream with sexual frustration as it normally did.

 

He instead found himself leaning over the arm of the sofa, head propped up on a cushion, drifting off into a hazy, alcohol-soaked fantasy in which he got up and walked over to Malfoy, pressed up behind him, and let Malfoy dance in front of him. He imagined how it would feel to have that scrumptious arse pressed against his front, how it would feel rubbing against his cock as Malfoy undulated to the music, how the pleasure would build so, so slowly as Malfoy teased him endlessly. 

 

Harry knew he’d had too much to drink because he didn’t even care that he was staring, that it would be immediately obvious to anyone who glanced at him what he was looking at so intently. Who cared who knew. Anyone who said Malfoy didn’t have a great arse was a liar, anyone could see that it was incredible. Harry couldn’t understand why no one else was staring really. Why was he the only one who couldn’t take his eyes off it?

 

The last thing Harry remembered thinking before he drifted off to sleep right there on the sofa, was that he wished he was brave enough to go up there and take what he wanted.

 

The 8th years didn’t take advantage of their newfound ability to book the Quidditch Pitch the next day, all far too hungover to even contemplate the idea of getting on a broom. Instead it was a few days later that Ron piped up, suggesting that they head out to the pitch after dinner and have a few games. The rest of the group readily agreed, people jumping up either to fetch their Quidditch gear, or to grab coats so that they could sit in the stands and watch. 

 

Harry, of course, planned to play, excitement thrumming through his veins at the prospect of pushing off into the air again after so long. There was nothing like the feeling of being so high up that everyone down below looked like ants, nothing more freeing than the sensation of the wind whipping through his hair as he chased down the Snitch. He bounded down to the pitch, joining in the excited chatter of the other 8th years as he imagined how good it was going to feel when he first took to the skies. 

 

As seemed to always be the case in Harry’s life though, there was an unexpected problem. 

 

The Slytherins had decided to play too, and were waiting on the pitch for them to arrive. 

 

Harry stopped dead in his tracks when he spotted them, causing Dean to walk straight into him, their heads cracking together painfully as a result. Harry brushed it off with a quick ‘Sorry, mate,’ far too distracted to notice whether or not his head was hurting.

 

Malfoy was stood there, chatting casually to Blaise like he was doing nothing wrong. And he wasn’t, really, Harry supposed. But in another sense, he absolutely was. There was nothing alright about the way Malfoy looked in his Quidditch leathers, and quite frankly, Harry thought it should be illegal. Surely there must be something in the Quidditch rules about needing to look decent while competing? Looking like that must count as an unfair advantage. 

 

Harry missed the arranging of teams entirely as he stood there and counted all the ways in which Malfoy’s look was just completely inappropriate. First of all, Malfoy had obviously packed the wrong gear, clearly mixing up his current kit with his fifth year kit. There was just no need for a t-shirt to fit that tightly, to stretch that enticingly across shoulder and back muscles. Harry decided he maybe needed to rethink his theory that Malfoy would never be caught dead in a gym - there was no way those muscles just  _ happened _ , they were far too impressive. 

 

And then the trousers. Merlin the trousers. They were laced far more tightly than they needed to be, cinching Malfoy in and serving only to emphasise how incredible his arse looked. 

 

Harry had spent a lot of time over the summer considering men’s arses, in person and in various magazines that remained hidden under his mattress, and he had never, ever seen one as pert and rounded as Malfoy’s. The men in the magazines would always be a disappointment now, just adding to the reasons Harry had to be annoyed at Malfoy. 

 

The sound of Neville blowing a whistle brought Harry back to reality, reminding him that he actually had something to do that wasn’t stare at Malfoy’s arse. He pushed up into the air, belatedly realising that he had no idea what team he was on or what position he was playing. He flew over to Ron, who looked at Harry like you would someone you thought might be on the verge of losing their mind when Harry asked about the teams. 

 

Reassured that he knew who his teammates were, Harry drifted up higher in the sky, slipping easily into the familiar role of Seeker. He really tried to concentrate at first, circling the pitch slowly, eyes peeled for any glint of gold that could be the Snitch, completely tuning out the chaos of the players scrapping below. It worked for about 10 minutes, but soon Harry found his mind wandering, seeking too easy to keep his full attention for long. 

 

A flash caught Harry’s eye, but it was silver not gold that he found himself staring at. Malfoy had always been a natural in the sky, but growing into his body had made him look like he didn’t even need a broom. He was gliding through the air, head turning as he scanned the pitch. He clearly wasn’t struggling to keep focused. 

 

Harry didn’t even realise he was flying in Malfoy’s direction until he found himself just a few feet away from him. The few remaining shreds of focus that Harry had been clinging to evaporated immediately as Malfoy turned sharply, starting to fly away from Harry, unknowingly giving Harry a perfect view of his arse perched on the broom, muscles clenched tight as he gripped the wood. Harry just stared, feeling like he’d been hit by a Confundus charm, the world narrowing to just that damned arse in its tight white trousers. 

 

It took him a minute to realise that the reason Malfoy had started to fly away from him wasn’t because he didn’t want to be near Harry, but because he’d seen the Snitch. Swearing loudly, Harry bent low over his broom and shot off after Malfoy, pushing himself to the limit in an attempt to make up for Malfoy’s head start. 

 

It was a testament to his broom’s quality that Harry did manage to make up a lot of the ground between them, and soon he was nearly on Malfoy’s tail. Of course, that brought its own set of problems, as Harry realised that this was the closest he’d ever been to Malfoy’s arse. As he began to pull up alongside Malfoy, Harry couldn’t stop his eyes flicking to the side just to take in the glory of that bum again. 

 

That second of hesitation was all it took. Harry slowed down minutely, and suddenly Malfoy let out a shout of triumph, his fist closing over the Snitch before he headed to the ground where his teammates engulfed him in a hug. Anger rushed through Harry at the sight, and he sped to the ground, storming over to where Malfoy stood.

 

‘You cheated!’ Harry shouted.

 

‘What are you talking about, Potter?’ Malfoy said, bemused.

 

‘You weren’t playing fair.’

 

‘How was I not playing fair?’

 

‘You wore those bloody trousers!’ Harry burst out, clapping a hand over his mouth as soon as he realised what he’d said. 

 

‘Fuck,’ he muttered, before turning tail and hurrying to the changing room, unable to bear seeing the look on Malfoy’s face. He thought he might actually die from embarrassment. He’d managed to survive the killing curse multiple times, but clearly this was going to be what finished him off.

 

Once he reached the safety of the changing rooms, he sunk down onto a bench and dropped his head into his hands.

 

_ Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

 

Maybe Malfoy would have misheard him? ‘You wore those bloody trousers’ could easily be confused for something else, surely? 

 

Harry knew he was kidding himself. Malfoy had definitely heard what Harry had said, and now he would know exactly how obsessed Harry was with his arse. Shit. 

 

The door to the changing room banged open, and Harry looked up so quickly he nearly keeled over from the head rush that followed. He was very grateful he didn’t, though, when his eyes could focus again and he realised that it was Malfoy stood in the doorway. Things were bad enough as they were; fainting in front of him wouldn’t help matters at all. 

 

‘Hey,’ he said tentatively when Malfoy didn’t say anything. ‘Any chance you can just forget I ever said anything?’ he added, laughing weakly. 

 

‘I don’t think so,’ Malfoy said slowly, taking a step closer to Harry.

 

‘Of course not,’ Harry said, cursing his luck once again. Seriously, you’d think the universe would have had enough of torturing him by now, but obviously not. 

 

‘So you like the trousers then?’ Malfoy said.

 

Harry froze, not knowing what to say. There was a smirk playing at the corners of Malfoy’s mouth, a smirk that sent butterflies fluttering in Harry’s stomach and made desire ignite in his core. 

 

‘Or is it what’s under the trousers that you like?’ Malfoy continued, coming ever closer. 

 

Harry’s pulse was thundering in his veins now, confusion and arousal fighting in his brain as he tried to figure out what on earth Malfoy was playing at.

 

‘Do you really think I hadn’t noticed the way you stare at me, Potter? You’re about as subtle as a herd of Erumpents.’

 

_ Shit.  _

 

Harry was still frozen in place, staring up at Malfoy who was now stood directly in front of the bench Harry was sat on. He determinedly kept his eyes locked on Malfoy’s, fighting the temptation to look down at the crotch that was at eye level. He knew he would lose any semblance of control he had over this situation if he did.

 

‘So, what’ll it be, Potter? Trousers on or off?’ Malfoy’s hand crept round to the ties on the front of his trousers, and Harry finally gave in and looked down. He gasped as he took in the sizeable bulge he saw there, eyes flicking up to Malfoy’s for confirmation that yes, this was really happening. 

 

‘Off,’ he managed to get out, voice hoarse and low. 

 

Malfoy complied, unlacing his trousers with those long fingers and pushing them to the ground, revealing the cock that Harry had been fantasising about since he had first seen it outlined in those joggers. 

 

Tempting though it was to focus on Malfoy’s hard prick, there was something Harry wanted more. 

 

‘Turn round,’ he murmured, reaching up to place his hands on Malfoy’s hips as he turned. 

 

_ Fucking hell. _

 

Harry had dreamed about that arse countless times, and yet nothing could have prepared him for the reality of seeing it, of feeling it.

 

As Harry leant in and dropped a kiss on one perfectly rounded cheek before licking in between them, he had the brief thought that, even if nothing else good ever happened in his life, he was glad he had survived it all just for this moment. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

The rest of the evening passed Harry by in a blur. He had no idea how he got back to the castle, how he managed to avoid awkward questions about where he’d vanished to for so long after the match. It wasn’t until he was lying in bed, wide awake even as the snores from his dorm mates filtered through the curtains of his bed, that the events of the evening really sank in. 

His mind drifted back across the grounds to the changing rooms, cock hardening automatically as he remembered how Malfoy had moaned wantonly as Harry had licked his arse, hands grasping those gorgeous cheeks as he did so. It had been better than Harry could ever have imagined, and his mouth watered at the memory, his dick already throbbing in his pants. 

Harry had never done that to another man before, had never wanted to. But then Malfoy’s bum was so much better than any arse Harry had ever seen, and he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He hadn’t wanted to stop, devouring Malfoy until his legs were trembling and a stream of expletives was falling from his mouth, so unlike the composed Malfoy Harry was used to. It was intoxicating, the memory of Malfoy falling apart like that, just from Harry’s tongue. Harry wanted to see it again.

As he reached a hand under the covers, gripping his cock tightly and starting to stroke, Harry remembered the way Malfoy had gasped when Harry reached around his wrapped his fingers around his long, hard cock. Malfoy’s dick had felt incredible in his hand, so hot and silky smooth as he had teasingly stroked up and down, tongue still working as he did so. It had only been a minute or so later when Malfoy suddenly tensed up, muscles clenching as he came with a shout, spilling over Harry’s fingers. It was so unbelievably hot that Harry had felt himself throb in his trousers, and with just a press of his palm into his groin he was coming hard, painting the inside of his quidditch leathers with his come. 

The memory had Harry panting and thankful for silencing charms as he couldn’t hold in the moan that escaped him when he sped up the movement of his hand. He was so close to coming, could feel the heat pooling in his body as he began to imagine what might have happened next had he not come in his trousers. Would Malfoy have let him do more? Merlin only knows Harry wanted more. He wanted to touch that arse again, to taste it, to feel it around his fingers, his cock. At just the thought of his prick in Malfoy’s bum, Harry’s orgasm hit him hard, a loud groan escaping as he came. 

Breathing heavily, Harry just lay there for a long moment, letting the aftershocks fizzle through his veins, revelling in the intensity of his orgasm and the memories of Malfoy that still played in his mind. He’d hoped that seeing Malfoy’s arse would be enough to cure him of this ridiculous obsession, that he’d be able to move on. He wasn’t sure it was going to work now.

* * *

The next day, Harry woke up determined to ignore the very existence of Draco Malfoy’s bloody arse. In fact, he was just going to ignore Malfoy entirely. That was doable, right?

The first hurdle came as soon as he woke up and realised that he was hard. That in itself wasn’t exactly unusual - he was an 18 year old boy, after all. Normally a quick wank would have it all sorted out, but Harry stopped himself just as his hand automatically reached down. There was no way he was going to be able to wank without thinking about Malfoy’s arse, not after yesterday. 

Already cursing Malfoy and his arse’s existence, Harry hurried out of bed and into the bathroom, only screaming a little bit as he forced himself under the cold stream. Dying of a cold caught from the freezing water was a price worth paying if it meant he could avoid sinking into a fantasy based around Malfoy and those damned butt cheeks. 

The world must have been smiling on Harry that morning, for once he’d dealt with the unfortunate morning wood situation, things got a lot better for him. He’d gingerly crept down into the common room, heart pounding at the thought of Malfoy being down there, but a peek around the corner of the staircase showed a common room devoid of blond Slytherins. 

The nerves built again as Harry, Ron, and Hermione neared the Great Hall. Luckily Ron and Hermione were mid way through an argument about the best way to make tea and so they weren’t paying any attention to Harry at all, meaning he had a modicum of privacy in which to panic about coming face to face with Malfoy. 

But once again, Harry was let off the hook. There was no sign of Malfoy or his gaggle of hangers on anywhere in the hall, leaving Harry to enjoy his breakfast in peace. And if his mind took a quick detour down a rather dirty route as he contemplated the rather large sausage that he had put on his plate, well, no one but him had to know that.

So all in all, if he ignored the amount of time hr spent wondering whether Malfoy would appear any second, his plan to forget about Malfoy’s existence was going quite well really. At least he’d managed to restrain himself from speculating out loud about why Malfoy wasn’t at breakfast - he couldn’t bear the eye rolls that Hermione would surely aim his way. 

Things went downhill, however, in Transfiguration. 

Harry had arrived early, for once, allowing him to grab one of the coveted seats at the back of the room. This seemed like a good thing at first; being at the back meant McGonagall was less likely to pick on him to answer fiendishly difficult questions, and might even allow him to have a quick chat with Ron about the 8th year Quidditch team he was planning to officially set up. 

The downside of being sat at the back of the classroom quickly became apparent though when Harry looked up from his bag just in time to see Malfoy saunter into the room, looking far too good for someone who had apparently skipped breakfast. As he made his way to a desk just a few rows in front of them, Malfoy looked over towards Harry, a small smirk playing around the corner of his mouth. 

_Fuck_. 

How could just that sight be enough to have all the thoughts Harry was trying to repress flooding back into his mind? He shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his cock responded to the memory of Malfoy pleading for more as Harry devoured his arse. It took Ron elbowing his ribs rather more sharply than strictly necessary for Harry to realise that McGonagall had arrived and started speaking. 

Unfortunately for Harry, the lesson was far more theoretical than practical, McGonagall standing at the front explaining complicated concepts to them rather than setting them loose to practice on their own. Harry found it hard enough to concentrate in lessons like this normally - he was far better at learning from practical, hands-on experience than from lectures - and today there was just no chance that he would be able to stay focused on the detailed theory behind transfiguring animals from one species to another. 

However hard he tried to keep his eyes focused firmly on McGonagall and the diagrams she was drawing on the blackboard, he couldn’t stop his gaze sliding over to where Malfoy was sat, lounging in his chair and whispering to Pansy. Just the sight of Malfoy was enough to have heat rushing through his veins, his cheeks pinkening at the memories that he couldn’t stop from crowding into his mind. 

How could Malfoy sit there so casually with Harry just a few rows behind? How was he not completely consumed by thoughts of what had happened between them? All Harry could think about was how beautifully Malfoy had moaned when he came, and how badly he wanted to hear that sound again. 

Harry jumped in shock when Ron prodded him, hard, on the arm, and looked around in surprise to see that everyone else was packing up, stuffing quills and books back into bags ready to head to their next lesson. Harry hadn’t heard a word that McGonagall had said, and counted his lucky stars that he’d apparently got away with being so distracted - McGonagall was normally quick to notice students who weren’t paying attention. He only hoped that he could somehow persuade Hermione to let him see her notes later.

He packed up his unopened books and untouched parchment, unable to stop himself noticing the way that Malfoy was still in the classroom, slowly picking up his own belongings. Malfoy had robes on today, more's the pity, but now that Harry had seen that arse in person, it didn’t matter what Malfoy was wearing. He would never be able to look at him again without remembering how incredible Malfoy had looked, spread open under his hands. 

Shaking his head in a desperate attempt to get rid of his increasingly dirty thoughts, praying that his semi wasn’t obvious in his uniform, Harry quickly got up to follow Ron and Hermione out of the classroom. He nearly tripped over a desk, however, when he realised that Malfoy had started to move too. Had he been waiting for Harry?

Malfoy’s face as he caught up to Harry bore no evidence of their recent encounter - his trademark sneer was firmly in place as he barged past Harry, knocking their shoulders together. Harry’s heart started to sink, fear that Malfoy just wanted to forget all about what had happened overtaking him, when he heard Malfoy whisper.

‘I thought about you in the shower this morning,’ Malfoy said, his voice low and rough.

Harry nearly gasped, the desire awoken by Malfoy’s words hitting him with such force, his cock instantly hardening as his body yearned to reach out for Malfoy, to touch him again. But Malfoy was gone already, his back retreating down the corridor, out of Harry’s reach. 

‘Are you alright, Harry?’ Hermione said.

Harry had completely forgotten she and Ron were even there, too caught up in Malfoy and what his words could possibly mean.

‘Oh,’ Harry said, mind scrambling to put itself back together again before Hermione caught on to what had just happened. ‘Yeah, I’m fine, I’m, um, just going to pop to the loo quickly. I’ll, uh, see you in Potions.’

And before they could say anything, Harry turned tail and practically sprinted down the corridor, leaving them gaping in his wake. He didn’t care that he was acting weird, that Hermione would inevitably get suspicious. All he cared about was the ache in his prick, and the images of Malfoy in the shower that were running through his brain. He needed to find a bathroom, and quickly.

The door slammed behind him as Harry ran into the closest bathroom, relief coursing through him as he realised that it was completely empty. He supposed it was because everyone was already in their next lessons - as he should be, but potions was the last thing on his mind now.

Harry hurried over to a stall, barricading the door behind him, dropping his bag onto the floor with a thunk as he unzipped his trousers. He let out a groan of relief as he pulled his prick out, just the slight contact required to get his boxers down enough to send a shiver of pleasure through him. He hastily threw up a silencing charm, knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to hold back his moans, before wrapping a hand firmly around himself and starting to stroke.

Malfoy words were playing on repeat in his brain, the memory of that low, promising tone Malfoy had used making Harry’s stomach flip over. Malfoy had been thinking of him in the shower? Did that mean what Harry thought it did? Was there any chance that Malfoy had been thinking of him while doing what Harry was right now? 

Merlin, the thought of Malfoy, soapy and wet and wanking while he thought about Harry eating him out was almost too much to bear. Harry was close already, the arousal that had built up throughout Transfiguration roaring back in full force, Malfoy’s words acting as fuel to the flames. Harry worked his hand faster, moans escaping from him as he pictured Malfoy in the shower, head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth open on a silent moan. As his imagined Malfoy started to come, painting his pale chest with long ropes, Harry peaked too, his climax hitting him so hard that he almost bent double as the pleasure raced through his body. 

For a long moment Harry stood there, forehead resting on the blissfully cool wall of the stall, his head fuzzy and his breaths coming in quick pants as he came down from one of the best wanks he’d ever had. As he returned back to earth though, Harry became increasingly aware that the lust that had so overwhelmed him just minutes before hadn’t completely vanished, instead just returning to a low simmer. He didn’t know what he would do if he didn’t get a chance to get his hands on Malfoy again, and soon.

* * *

Unfortunately for Harry, and for his ability to concentrate on any part of his life that wasn’t inside Malfoy’s trousers, he didn’t manage to touch Malfoy over the next few days. 

Malfoy did seem to be everywhere, however, just out of reach, but close enough to constantly draw Harry’s eye. He had begun to blatantly flout the Hogwarts dress code, pushing the boundaries, wearing those damn jeans for as long as he possibly could. The first day he had worn them down to breakfast Harry had had to excuse himself from the Great Hall as the piece of toast he had been eating had gone down the wrong way and he couldn’t stop coughing. Even through the tears filling his eyes from his choking fit, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way that Malfoy’s eyes tracked his departure from the hall. He didn’t think he was imagining the heat in those grey eyes that locked onto his as he stumbled past. 

Harry was wanking more than he ever had before, waking up hard from dreams of pale skin and blond hair between his fingers, unable to sleep at night before getting some relief from the constant hum of arousal that raced through his veins. His marks were suffering as he completely gave up on attempting to pay attention in lessons, instead devoting hours to cataloguing the exact way the sun glinted off Malfoy’s hair when he sat next to the window in Defence Against the Dark Arts, or the way the material of his robes stretched so enticingly across his shoulders when he cast a spell in Charms. He’d become very adept at silencing and locking charms as a result of the frequent dashes to bathrooms he was having to make in between classes, hoping each time that a quick wank would bring back his ability to notice anything that wasn’t Malfoy.

Nothing worked, of course. He half-wondered if Malfoy had bewitched him somehow, if maybe this was all part of a dastardly plan after all. Maybe Malfoy had been instructed to distract Harry so that Death Eaters could sneak into Hogwarts again? Harry was sure that the Death Eaters wouldn’t have suggested Malfoy use his arse, but, well, he doubted they would mind considering how effective it was proving to be. 

He took to poring over the Marauder’s Map, obsessively checking to see whether Malfoy was sneaking off to meet with anyone suspicious. Despite the hours Harry spent watching Malfoy’s tiny dot move around the castle, he was unable to find proof of any wrongdoing. That didn’t stop him from watching the map, however. He tried to tell himself that he had to keep an eye on Malfoy, just in case - after all, Harry had suspected he was up to something in their sixth year, and that had proved to be right, so he should follow his instincts now, surely? And if he was unable to resist getting the map out at night, his heart hammering in his chest and desire pulsing in his veins as he watched the dot showing Malfoy in bed, imagining how Malfoy might look in his pyjamas, all rumpled and sleepy with that gorgeous arse visible through the thin fabric, well. That would just have to be Harry’s little secret. 

By the end of the week, Harry thought he might actually die, just expire right where he stood. Write it on his tombstone, put it in the Prophet, it was the damn truth: _Harry Potter, Saviour of the World, Dead aged 18, Cause of Death: Draco Malfoy’s Incredible Arse_.

* * *

One Friday evening, Harry was in the Common Room, settled on one of the sofas that lined the back wall of the room which just so happened to afford him an excellent view of Malfoy, who had his head bent as he wrote line after line on a long piece of parchment. Harry had been thoroughly absorbed in examining the way a bit of Malfoy’s hair was dangling in front of his face, his own homework long forgotten, but a sudden uptick in the noise level in the room snapped him out of his trance. 

A group near the fireplace had suddenly burst into excited chatter, the empty beer bottles around them giving a hint as to a potential explanation for their lack of volume control. Harry had looked over, wondering what was going on, but thinking it was just the standard tipsy shenanigans, his attention was soon drawn back to Malfoy, who showed no sign of having heard the noise at all. Harry’s assumption was quickly proven wrong though, when Seamus clambered up onto the coffee table, only wobbling slightly as he was cheered on by the group he was sat with. 

‘Oi!’ he said loudly, causing everyone in the common room to look over him. ‘There are far too many people in this room doing homework, _homework!_ , for my liking. I mean, come on! It’s a Friday night! We’re young! We survived a war! Let’s have a bit of bloody fun before we have to go be boring adults.’

Loud cheers greeted Seamus’s words, quills already being tossed aside, the assembled students grateful for any excuse to close their books for the night.

‘So,’ Seamus continued once the noise died down a bit. ‘I’ve got an idea.’

Harry did not like the evil glint in Seamus’s eye on bit. Nothing good ever came from that expression, and it often resulted in someone losing their eyebrows, or worse. 

After a dramatic pause, Seamus spoke again, his words provoking complete uproar.

‘We should go skinny dipping.’

Now, getting naked in front of all his fellow eighth years wasn’t particularly at the top of Harry’s list of _things I desperately want to do_ , and he was about to come up with an excuse as to why he really must stay here and get on with this not at all boring Charms homework, but then he noticed Malfoy getting up.

Surely Malfoy wasn’t going to go skinny dipping? Harry’s heart nearly stopped at just the image of Malfoy, naked and wet and glowing in the moonlight. 

Harry nearly tripped over his feet in his haste to join the group heading out of the portrait hole, not caring that his books had fallen on the floor and his parchment had got a bit crushed. There was no way he was going to miss out on another chance to see Malfoy’s arse, even if he wouldn’t be able to get as close as he’d like. 

The whole way down to the lake, Harry was nearly hyperventilating with anticipation, his stomach full of butterflies and his heart racing. It was only when they were all stood nervously by the edge of the lake that the reality of the situation sunk in. Yes, Malfoy would be naked, but so would Harry. And knowing Harry, he would be hard - he always was, these days, and being near a naked Malfoy wasn’t exactly going to change that.

As his classmates began to strip off robes and t-shirts, Harry began to silently panic. There was no way he was going to be able to keep his cool in the face of a ~~beautiful, glistening, godlike~~ naked Malfoy. The sounds of shrieks and splashing filled the air as people gradually began to get into the water, some dipping a toe and wading in slowly while others - Seamus and Dean most noticeably - took a run up and leapt right in. Harry took advantage of everyone’s distraction to hurriedly pull off his clothes and run into the lake, cursing as the cold water hit him, but thankful that the shock was a very effective boner killer. 

For a while, Harry managed to keep his eyes off Malfoy - in fact, it was probably the longest he’d gone in days without looking at him. He’d been pulled into a game of catch by Ron, Seamus and Dean, and was too busy trying to avoid being hit by the Quaffle they had managed to nick from somewhere to look over to Malfoy. Eventually the game came to an end when the people surrounding them complained after being hit one too many times by an errant throw, and Harry couldn’t resist looking any longer. 

All of Harry’s hours of fantasising couldn’t have prepared him for the sight that greeted him. Malfoy was standing waist-deep in the water, his pale skin distinct in the moonlight, his hair soaked through and plastered to his forehead. The curve of Malfoy’s arse was just visible above the water line, and Harry had a brief, crazy moment where he was irrationally jealous of the lake for getting to lap at those beautiful arsecheeks. 

Harry’s perusal of Malfoy’s body was rudely interrupted when Pansy splashed Malfoy, causing him to shriek as the cold water hit his chest. Then, the most unbelievable thing happened. 

Malfoy laughed.

Actually, properly laughed.

Not a sneer, or a cold, mean-spirited snigger, but a true carefree laugh.

And that was it, for Harry. He just couldn’t take it anymore. He’d been hard since the minute he looked over at Malfoy, but at the sound of that laugh he positively _ached_ with need. The time for teasing and buildup was long past. 

He couldn’t wait a minute longer.

Harry waded through the water, walking through games of Piggy in the Middle and Tag, paying no attention at all to the shouts that followed him, too intent on his destination to care. He had so much momentum by the time he arrived that he nearly walked smack into Malfoy, catching himself just in time but ending up stood far closer than he had intended to. At this distance he could see _everything_ , from the water dripping off Malfoy’s hair to the thin white scars that tracked down his chest.

‘Malfoy,’ he panted, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath from his fast walk. ‘Come with me.’

Harry didn’t wait to see if Malfoy was going to respond, or do as Harry had said. He simply turned and began to walk out of the water, a thrill shooting up his spine as he reached shallower water and realised that if Malfoy was following him he would be getting a great view of Harry’s arse right now. Not that it had anything on Malfoy’s arse - there was no way Harry could compete with that perfection - but Harry knew he had a pretty good body, honed by years of Quidditch. 

He paused to quickly pull on his clothes, not bothering to put his boxers on underneath his trousers or to do up his shirt buttons. After all, if he had his way his clothes wouldn’t be staying on for long. He was sure all his classmates must be watching them, wondering what on earth he and Malfoy were doing heading back to the castle together, but he simply didn’t care anymore. All he cared about was getting Malfoy alone so that he could do everything he had been dreaming about. 

Malfoy caught up with him on the first floor. Hearing the footsteps coming closer behind him, Harry stopped, heart pounding in his chest as he waited for Malfoy to reach him. As soon as Malfoy was within arms reach, Harry was on him, unable to wait, too desperate to touch, to feel, to taste. 

Harry pressed him up against the wall as they kissed desperately, pressing their bodies tightly together and slipping his hands under the hem of Malfoy’s shirt. Merlin, it was perfect, hard and hot and incredible, the way Malfoy shivered under Harry’s touch and moaned into the kiss as he opened his mouth to allow Harry access. Harry was grinding his aching cock into Malfoy’s hip, one leg between Malfoy’s to give him some much needed friction. 

‘Fuck,’ Malfoy moaned as Harry’s hand slipped higher up, brushing over his nipple. ‘Want you, Potter.’

Harry didn’t have to be asked twice. He pulled back from Malfoy, taking in the way Malfoy’s lips were red from kissing, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed, before tugging Malfoy into the nearest empty classroom. 

‘Take this off,’ Harry murmured in between kisses, pulling on the hem of Malfoy’s shirt. ‘And these, too,’ he added, slipping a finger beneath the waistband of Malfoy’s trousers. As Malfoy removed his clothes, Harry slipped out of his, never letting his eyes leave Malfoy, not wanting to miss Malfoy stripping off. 

Once they were both naked, Malfoy moved over to Harry, backing him up onto a desk, one hand stroking gently along his hip but never quite getting to where Harry really wanted to be touched. It was worth it though, for the sight that followed. When Harry had got himself settled on the desk, Malfoy reached out and took hold of Harry’s cock, before sliding down onto his knees and licking the head of Harry’s prick. 

Harry quickly reached out a hand and wrapped it tightly in Malfoy’s hair, needing to ground himself as unbelievable pleasure raced through him. Malfoy’s mouth felt incredible, better than Harry had imagined, and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to hang on for long if Malfoy kept doing that thing with his tongue. 

‘H-hang on,’ Harry managed to get out. ‘I don’t want to come yet.’

With a sly smile on his face, Malfoy stopped sucking Harry’s cock and stood up, pulling Harry into a deep kiss.

‘Well, we can’t have you coming yet, can we? You haven’t fucked me yet,’ he said, his words nearly enough to make Harry come there and then, which would have been a disaster. Harry didn’t think he would be able to cope with knowing he had ruined his chance to fuck Malfoy by coming at some dirty talk. 

‘Bend over the desk then,’ Harry said once he had regained control of himself, Malfoy quickly complying.

Harry swallowed hard, eyes roving over the arse that Malfoy had just presented to him. He couldn’t believe he was actually going to be in there in a few minutes. He hadn’t thought he could get any harder, but somehow he did as he imagined how it was going to feel to sink into that arse, what it would be like to feel Malfoy around him.

First though, he copied Malfoy, sinking to his knees on the cold stone floor in front of the desk. Remembering how responsive Malfoy had been last time, he quickly set about eating him out, his tongue licking up Malfoy’s crease and dipping into Malfoy’s hole as he began to get Malfoy ready for him. Malfoy let out a loud moan and Harry added a finger, gently opening him up until he was moving back onto Harry’s fingers and pleading for more.

With shaking hands Harry slicked his cock up, moving to stand behind Malfoy and slipping his cock between his arse cheeks, thrusting forwards a few times to tease Malfoy, Harry’s cock nearly entering him but not quite. Finally, taking a deep breath, Harry began to push in. It was indescribable, the feeling of sinking into Malfoy, feeling him take Harry. Harry wanted to watch, more than anything, but just one look down at Malfoy’s arse swallowing his cock had him dangerously close to the edge. He screwed his eyes shut instead, not wanting this to be over before it had even started, and didn’t open them until he felt himself bottom out in Malfoy.

For a moment they just breathed together, Malfoy getting accustomed to the feel of Harry inside him. For his part, Harry was just trying desperately not to come. Gradually though they both settled, Harry’s urge to come receding slightly as the initial wave of pleasure faded. Malfoy was the first one to move, rocking his hips slightly to signal that he was ready for Harry to move. 

Harry didn’t need any encouragement, and he began to thrust, each movement dragging a groan from him as they started to move together. They established a rhythm, each thrust brushing Malfoy’s prostate, Harry’s hands gripping his hips so tightly his knuckles were white. The room filled with moans and muttered swear words and the sounds of their bodies coming together, and Harry thought it was the most beautiful sound he’d ever heard, second only to Malfoy’s laugh at the lake. 

When Malfoy reached down to stroke his cock, his moans increasing in volume as he got closer to his peak, Harry couldn’t hold back any longer. He snapped his hips even faster, Malfoy’s hand flying over his prick until he stiffened, his arse clenching around Harry as he came over the desk. The feeling of Malfoy coming around him was Harry’s undoing, and he tipped over the edge, filling Malfoy up as he came with a moan. 

Exhausted, Harry collapsed forwards, his head coming to rest on Malfoy’s shoulder blades, both of them breathing heavily and shaking as the aftershocks hit them. Eventually Harry found the energy to drag himself off Malfoy, who whimpered slightly as Harry pulled out of him. They dressed quietly, Harry not quite sure what to say, worried he would spoil what had just happened with badly chosen words. 

Once Harry was fully dressed and looking vaguely respectable again, he turned to Malfoy. They looked at each other for a moment, before Harry decided he had to say something. If he wanted this to happen again, this was definitely a time for some of that good old Gryffindor courage.

‘We, uh,’ he started apprehensively. ‘We should do this again, if you want?’

‘Meet me here tomorrow night,’ Malfoy said, before turning and walking towards the door. 

Just before Malfoy left the room, Harry called him back.

‘Hey, Malfoy? Tomorrow night? Wear the jeans.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading this surprise extra chapter! 
> 
> Thank you Keyflight790 for continuing to be a fantastic beta ❤
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ❤
> 
> Come and shout at me about Draco's arse on [Tumblr](https://malenkayacherepakha.tumblr.com/)!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Keyflight790 for being a wonderful beta!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr: [MalenkayaCherepakha](https://malenkayacherepakha.tumblr.com/)


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